Richard Sneddon
Trenches (France)
9 Sorrow Avenue
Camoline
Edinburgh
Scotland
Great Britain
9th July 1917
Dear
Mother, Father and Siblings,
I am writing to let you all know that I am still alive and fighting for
our country. I do not wish to worry you, merely to let you know that this war is
nothing like we had been told. It is no honour to fight in conditions such as
these. We are forced to stand in trenches full or water, mud, sewage and
decaying flesh. I have given consideration to taking my own life, but the
thought of returning home to Scotland makes me fight on.
I am
nearly deaf and slightly blind from the noise and smoke of the bombs and rifles
going off. I also have trench foot from being ordered to stand in the trenches
for hours on end. It is becoming extremely painful, but I refuse to have my feet
operated on because it is done without any anaesthetic, which is only used in
major, life saving operations.
There seem to be more rats than soldiers
around here, and the chatter is terrible. Because we are all so close together
and it is hard to find clean water to wash with, they breed like mad. I tried
rubbing soap down the seams of my uniform as you suggested in your last letter,
but I don’t think the soap here is strong enough. They are quite large at the
moment and can even eat you in your sleep. I had heard the rhymes about the bed
bugs biting, but I never really believed them until now!
I am
weak and frail because my body rejects the food I eat. It is the same thing
every day; there is a constant taste of stale bread and tea in my mouth. There
is even the taste of dead men in the water we drink because there is no-where
away from the trauma and despair of the war to prepare proper food or to attain
pure water.
The
smell from beneath our feet is horrendous; the soil is soaked in discoloured
blood. My clothes are also drenched in the blood of many men who died fighting
for their country.
Just
before we went into combat for the first time, everyone tried to put a brave and
cheery face on things. We all cracked jokes, laughed and talked about eating
fish and chips, hot pots and homemade soup when we got home, but for many of us,
the chances of that were slim, and we knew it.
When
we went into the open fire, it was a different story. We were no longer men
preparing for battle, we were men in battle and it was terrifying. We were told
to run on no-matter what and always shoot, never get shot. Even run past if one
of our friends had been hit and was crying out at us to rescue them from that
hell, but all we could do was run on and mourn for the loss of a friend, for
no-one else would help them on their way past. There was an eerie lime light in
the sky and the sound of grown men and young boys screaming in agony, falling
down one by one around you, dropping like flies, and all you could do was pray
you wouldn’t be the next one to fall.
The
first thing we all did when we (the remaining survivors) got back was go to the
injuries tent and look for lost friends. It was there and then that I found out
that my two closest friends had been taken and killed by the enemy and I mourned
once again for the loss of my companions, but I will fight on in their
honour.
I am
determined to be strong, but I am lonely and frightened of what is still to
come.
I
miss you all terribly and wish I were home. Little Ailsa will be four now if I
am correct. John will be six and Jean will be fourteen. I am sorry I have missed
you all growing up and missed out on three years worth of birthdays. I am sorry
I couldn’t get you any presents, but when I get home I will buy you all the
biggest birthday cake you have ever seen for all of you to
share.
Mother and Father I love and miss you
both so much I cannot put it into words and I hope you think I have done you
proud. I also hope the conditions and rations in Edinburgh are bearable and that
you all still argue over who won and who cheated at dominos. I know it’s silly,
but I miss the little things like that most of all, so I hope you will have the
dominos and a piping hot cup of tea out on the table ready for me when I get
back.
I
love and miss you all dearly; remember that, no-matter what
happens.
Yours Totally
Your Son and
Brother
Richard Sneddon
xxxxx
P.S.
Keep your chin up!!